


The Man After the War

by Perpetual Motion (perpetfic)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-21
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-08 11:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3207164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetfic/pseuds/Perpetual%20Motion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>George is restless after the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [infiniteeight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infiniteeight/gifts).



George is restless after the war. He tries to work through it, taking all the jobs he can find. He surrounds himself with friends and family and good times. He volunteers on the weekends and after work. He talks about his experiences if people ask, and he stays cheerful because that’s just who he is.

But George is restless after the war. 

Almost a year to the day since he’s come home, he gets in his car and he drives. Ninety miles out of town, he realizes he should decide where he’s going. He stops at a gas station and stands in the phone booth for almost ten minutes trying to figure out what to do. He calls his mother.

“I’ll be out of town for a few days,” he says. “I’m not sure where I’m going.”

“Call if you need money,” she says, ever practical. “Make sure you stop and sleep.”

“I will,” he promises. They say their goodbyes, and he hangs up the phone. He walks back to his car and digs through his duffel. He’d thrown in clothes and shoes and a few books with no real care of what got jumbled where. He pulls out a slim black notebook and opens it to the last few pages. It’s the names and addresses of all the guys from Easy. He sits in the backseat of his car with the door wide open, smokes a cigarette, and reads through the names. 

He pauses at Lip’s name and considers calling, but it doesn’t feel right. All Lip did was take care of everyone, and George doesn’t want to put his unease on Lip’s shoulders again. He knows Lip will take it, but it doesn’t seem fair. 

Maybe Speirs, he thinks, and that makes him laugh. He hasn’t laughed in at least a week, he realizes, and so he stands up and goes back into the booth and calls the number in his notebook. 

“Hello?” A man’s’ voice says when the operator connects them. 

“Um, hi, this is George Luz. I’m looking for Ronald Speirs.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, and George wonders if his reputation has preceded him. “Hello?” he says when the pause goes on for a while.

“Sorry,” the voice says, and George realizes it’s Lip. “It’s—“

“Lip, hey,” George interrupts. “Wow, this is unexpected.”

“Yes,” Lipton says. “How are you, George?”

“Restless,” George says before he can stop himself. He sighs and rubs his eyes. He really didn’t want to put this on Lip, but Lip’s just got a way of making you tell him things. “Restless and antsy. I was calling to see if Speirs wouldn’t mind some company, but it sounds like you’re already there, so I’ll—“

“No, no. I’m not— We’re— You should come. Ron would be glad to see you.”

“I don’t want to jam myself into your visit,” George says. There’s another silence.

“I’m not visiting,” Lip replies like he’s giving away a secret. “I…live here.”

“Oh,” George says. “Well, okay. Um, it’ll take me some time. I sort of headed out not knowing where I was going, so I’m a hundred miles north of West Warwick.”

“Well, that’ll get you here around supper time,” Lip says. “That’ll be fine. We’re having pork chops.”

“I like pork chops,” George says. “I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“You drive careful, George.”

“I will.”

They say goodbye, and George hangs up the phone. He cocks his head at it like it’s going to explain to him why Lipton’s living with Speirs. He remembers that Lip was going to go back to college after he got home. He must have decided to try college in Boston, George figures. He steps out of the phone booth and gets back in the car.

He drives carefully, as Lipton requested, and as he gets closer to Boston, he feels himself relax. Speirs and Lipton, they understand what he’s been through. They’ll get if he doesn’t want to tell stories. Ever since he’s gotten home, his siblings and cousins and everyone’s wanted stories of what it was like to be a paratrooper. George tries to stick to telling the fun ones, but even the fun ones aren’t as fun when he reaches the part of the story that includes Skip or Penkala or Toye or Bill or—

George shakes his head so he won’t keep listing names. He clicks on the radio and finds a station playing music. He turns it up loud and lets it drown out his thoughts.

George has been to Boston before. It’s not terribly far from West Warwick, and he used to come down occasionally on the weekends. He finds Speirs’s place easily, parks the car, and goes to the building. It’s a building with a buzzer, and it takes him a moment to find the right one:

C. LIPTON  
R. SPEIRS

George presses the button and waits. The door buzzes, and he lets himself in. He goes up to the third floor, finds 307, and knocks. The door opens almost immediately, and there’s Lipton wearing slacks and a sweater that doesn’t quite fit. His hair’s combed like George remembers, and he’s already got his arms open to take George into a hug.

“Funny meeting you here,” George says as he accepts the hug.

“I could say the same,” Lip replies, pulling George into the apartment with an arm around his shoulders. “Ron ran out for extra vegetables,” Lipton says. “He’ll be back soon. If you want to wash up, the bathroom’s the first door on the right.”

“Yeah,” George says. “I’ll do that.” He walks down the hall, uses the toilet, and washes his hands. He glances around the bathroom, taking in the two towels, the two razors, and the two toothbrushes. There’s only one can of shaving cream, but there are two different colognes. He opens the medicine cabinet because he’s nosy like that. Aspirin, antacids, cough syrup, and dental floss. He closes the medicine cabinet and clicks off the light as he exits.

Lipton’s in the kitchen turning three pork chops over in a pan. George sits at the table when Lipton nods at it. “Beer?” Lipton asks.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Or course not,” Lipton says. He gets a beer from the icebox and pops the top with a bottle opener. 

George takes the beer and drinks from it. He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet. Lipton’s a guy you can do that with. He looks out the window of the dining nook. “Nice view,” he says. It is. There’s trees and a strip of street for people-watching.

“Yeah, I like it,” Lipton says.

“How long you been here?” George asks.

“A while,” Lipton says. He lifts the lid on another pot on the stove and pokes at something with a fork. “We’re having corn.”

“I like corn.” George can’t stop looking at Lipton’s sweater. It’s sort of a light red, and the color makes him look washed out. The shoulders droop on him a little, but the sleeves fit okay. It’s too long in the torso. George takes another drink of beer and chokes on it as he realizes it’s Ron’s sweater.

“You okay?” Lipton asks, coming over to thump George on the back.

“Fine,” George says. He clears his throat and waves Lipton away. “Just fine. Why are you in Speirs’s sweater?”

Lipton looks down like he hadn’t even realized he was wearing it. “Oh. Um. I must have just grabbed it by accident.”

George just manages not to ask how. Lipton is blushing and looking away. “Lip?” he asks.

Lipton rubs a hand over his face, mutters something to himself that George doesn’t hear, and looks at George as wide-open and honest as he always has. “Ron and I live together,” he says.

“Yeah, I figured that out when you said so on the phone,” George replies.

“No. I mean, we _live_ together, George.”

“Wha—” George clams up. “Oh,” he says after a moment. “Like, in the way that you grabbed his sweater without paying attention.”

“Yes, like that.” 

“Oh.” 

Lipton goes back to poking the pork chops. George drinks more of his beer. He taps his fingers on the table and wonders what to say. “Really?” he asks. He’s surprised when Lipton laughs.

“Yes,” Lipton says. “Jeez, George, you’re never going to be subtle, are you?”

“No, probably not.” 

The front door opens, and Ron walks in, a small paper bag in one arm. “Luz,” he greets with a friendly smile Luz is pretty sure he’s never seen on his face, “good to see you.”

“And you, Sir,” George replies.

“Just Ron, please,” Ron says. He walks into the kitchen and steps around Lipton. “They were out of asparagus, so I got broccoli.”

“That’s fine,” Lipton says. “Get me a beer, will you?”

“Sure,” Ron says.

George watches them as Ron grabs two beers, opens them both, and sets one on the counter next to the stove. He touches Lipton’s shoulder. “Is this mine?”

“Grabbed it by mistake,” Lipton replies, and the blush starts again.

“You know what?” George says, drawing their attention. “Fuck it. I don’t care.”

“About what?” Ron asks as he walks over to sit.

“About you two _living_ together,” George says. “Lipton just told me.”

“I see,” Ron replies. He looks wary. “But you don’t care?”

“I don’t care,” George says. “I don’t care,” he repeats, and it feels true this time. “I feel restless and shitty, and I came barging into your day with barely any warning, and I’m tired of other people trying to get into my business, so I don’t care what you two are doing here. I don’t care.”

“Are you sure?” Ron asks. “It’s a crime, you know.”

“So’s killing people, but we’ve all done that,” George replies. It comes out hard and bitter, and he gets a lump in his throat. “Everyone only wants to hear the fun stories,” he hears himself say without meaning to talk. “But they’re not any fun to tell.”

“Ron,” Lipton says, and Ron stands up and takes over at the stove so Lipton can sit next to George and grab his arm. “George, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Is it?” George asks. 

“It’s going to be better,” Lipton amends. “It just takes time.”

“Seems like you two are okay,” George says. “And I hear from the guys, and they sound okay.”

“They’re lying,” Ron tells him. “Or they’re holding back because they don’t want to worry you.”

“And I don’t think Ron and I should be an example of getting better, necessarily,” Lipton says. “Our situation is very different from yours or the other guys.”

George scrubs a hand over his face and swears under his breath. “I don’t know what to do,” he says. 

“Stay the night,” Lipton replies. “We’ll talk about it in the morning. Tonight, we’ll eat and play cards and tell whatever stories we want.”

“Or none at all,” Ron says.

The itch under George’s skin lets up just a little bit. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll give it a try.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to the_wordbutler for her usual fantastic beta work. For an anon on tumblr. I hope you like it!

He stays the night, then another, and on the third, he wakes up with his heart racing and sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Shit,” he whispers.

“Breathe, George,” Carwood says, and George turns his head, unsurprised that Carwood is sitting in the straight-backed chair next to the bed in the second-bedroom-that-is-nominally-Carwood’s George has taken over. “You have to remember to breathe.”

“Thought that was my line to you,” George says. He breathes in and shudders, and he flinches when Carwood touches his arm.

“Sorry,” Carwood says, taking his hand away.

“No, it’s okay. I just…” George sits up and lets the covers drop to his waist. The air in the room is slightly cool, and it makes him shiver. He’s sweating on his back, too. “I haven’t been touched much lately. It makes me nervous.”

“What would make you comfortable?” Carwood asks.

George squeezes his eyes shut and swallows back a hard laugh. “Being touched,” he says. “I want it, but it…I don’t know, Lip. It scares the shit out of me.” He opens his eyes and looks at Carwood. Carwood is watching him with the same calm he’s always had. “But I want it.”

Carwood tugs at a corner of the blanket, straightening it but not removing his hand. “You wanna split the bed? It’s big enough for two.”

“I…” George feels guilty with how much he wants it. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.” He scoots toward the wall, and Carwood slides in next to him. 

“You tell me if I crowd you,” Carwood says.

“Sure,” George replies. He stares up at the ceiling and listens to Carwood’s breathing even out. 

He doesn’t know what time he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, the sun’s just barely up, and Ron is standing over the bed looking at the both of them. George realizes Carwood is curled up and facing him, one hand pressed against George’s stomach. “Um,” George says to Ron.

Ron shakes his head and gives Carwood a fond look and smile that makes George hurt. “Of course,” he mutters. He leans down and strokes Carwood’s hair. “Carwood, for god’s sake, go into the bedroom with George.”

“Um,” George says again, but Carwood is coming awake, blinking at Ron, then George.

“Okay,” Carwood says, voice sleepy. He stands up and reaches for George’s hand, pulling him out of the bed and leading him down the hall to the other bedroom. When he gets there, he sits on the bed and pulls George down with him. “Ron?” he calls softly.

“Just a minute,” Ron says. 

Carwood blinks sleepily at George and smiles so sweetly it makes George hurt again. “Come on,” Carwood says, pulling at George’s arm until George is lying down with his head on the pillow and Carwood curled in close to him. 

“What—” George forgets the rest of his sentence when Ron slides in on the other side of the bed, putting George between them. “I don’t—”

“Shhh,” Ron says, and he slides his arm around George, just under Carwood’s.

George’s brain shorts out hard. He opens his mouth to ask a question, but he has no idea what to say. He looks at Carwood up close and can see the freckles across his nose. He turns his head to look at Ron, but all he can see is the top of Ron’s head.

“Settle,” Ron says, and his mouth brushes George’s neck just where his hairline ends.

“Yeah,” George says. “Sure.” He turns his head back the other way and closes his eyes, thinking there’s no way he’ll go to sleep again. This is too weird.

When he wakes up again, Carwood is gone, and Ron has him pulled in close. George can feel Ron’s head pressed against his shoulder blade. He reaches down and touches Ron’s hand with his fingertips. Ron spreads his fingers and snuffles against George’s neck.

“Nightmares?” Ron asks.

“No,” George says. “Where’s—”

“He has an early class on Thursdays,” Ron says. He stretches, and George feels it all the way down his body. “I’m sure he left coffee on.”

“Coffee’s good,” George says. 

“George.”

“Yeah?”

“You can stay as long as you like.”

“In the bed or in general?”

“Both,” Ron says.

George can’t breathe for a second. “What are you offering?” he asks.

“Companionship.”

“And… Carwood’s okay with…companionship?”

Ron chuckles and lifts up one arm to look down at George. “It’s a two-for-one deal, I suppose.”

“Companionship,” George says. “From both of you.”

“Yes.”

“I need coffee.”

“I’ll get it poured.” Ron sits up fully, stretches his arms over his head, and gets out of bed. He pads out of the bedroom like he hasn’t just said some seriously weird shit.

“Companionship,” George mutters. He doesn’t know what to say.

*

Ron sits next to George while he drinks his coffee and eats the breakfast Ron makes. Ron sits next to him when George sits on the couch and reads a book. “You gonna follow me around all day?” George asks.

Ron actually looks embarrassed, and he slides to the other end of the couch. “Sorry,” he says. “Carwood says I hover.”

“That is hilarious coming from him,” George says. Ron laughs, and George finds himself a little mesmerized. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Ron laugh.

“What?” Ron asks when he realizes George is looking.

George scrambles for something to say. “Shouldn’t you be at work?” 

“I took some leave,” Ron says. 

“Oh.” George looks back at his book and doesn’t say anything when Ron gets up, goes to the kitchen, comes back with a glass of water, and sits close to him again.

*

Carwood comes home just after one, looks at Ron, then George, then Ron, and smiles like everything’s just fine in the world. “Keeping out of trouble?” he asks as he sets his books on the coffee table. 

“Sure,” George says. “You know we’re perfect angels.”

“Well, you’re something,” Carwood agrees. He comes around the coffee table, leans down, and kisses Ron hello. 

It’s a short kiss, but George feels like it goes on forever. “What?” he asks, trying to ease the sudden hammering in his chest. “Nothing for me?”

Carwood gives George an amused look and shakes his head. “I think a good night’s sleep did you well, George.”

“Oh?”

“You’re in a better mood than you have been.” Carwood reaches over and squeezes George’s shoulder. 

It sends warmth all the way through George. He is completely without words but manages to pull a face and make them laugh. 

“How about a late lunch?” Carwood asks Ron. “We could take George to that diner down the street.”

“Sounds good,” Ron says. He stands and touches Carwood’s waist to step around him. 

“George?” Carwood asks when he catches George staring. “You all right?”

“Fine,” George says. He stands up too fast, knocks his shins against the coffee table and nearly topples over before catching himself. He sees Carwood and Ron share a look but doesn’t know how to read it. “Where’s this diner?” he asks a little more loudly than necessary.

*

The diner is just a few blocks over. They walk it. Ron and Carwood bracket George between them, one of them stepping behind so people can pass as needed. “Are you my official escorts?” George asks.

Carwood bumps his shoulder. “The trouble you get into, you need one.”

George grins and bumps Carwood’s shoulder in return. “Aw, come on, I never caused any major damage.”

Ron holds the door open at the diner. George watches him ghost a touch across Carwood’s back as Carwood walks inside. He gets a shivery feeling that makes him catch his breath when Ron does the same to him.

They eat sandwiches and drink coffee, George on one side of the booth, Carwood and Ron on the other. They’re squeezed in closer than they need to be, and George can’t stop watching the easy companionship between them.

“You all right?” Carwood asks as the waitress comes and pours them fresh coffee. 

“I’m—” George cuts himself off and clears his throat. “I…” He shakes his head when the words won’t come. He stares into his cup. “How long can I stay?” he asks, looking up.

“As long as you like,” Carwood says, and Ron nods in agreement.

George turns his coffee cup in his hands. “Ron… Actually, maybe this is a better discussion to have elsewhere.”

“Companionship,” Ron tells Carwood. “Like we said.”

“I am pretty sure we’re still sitting in the diner,” George says.

Ron actually looks embarrassed, which George didn’t know was possible. Carwood just looks quietly amused. “Like we said,” Carwood says to George. “Stay as long as you like, and…the rest…is available if you want it.”

“The rest?”

“The companionship,” Carwood says.

“Right,” George replies. He feels like there’s a layer he’s missing, but he can’t find it. “Right.”

*

George goes to sleep in the spare room that night. He wakes up sometime after midnight, breathing hard but not remembering his dream. Carwood isn’t next to the bed this time. George turns on his side to face the door and looks at the light coming in from the hallway. The whole apartment is silent. George presses his face into his pillow and squeezes his eyes shut. He breathes in, then out.

It takes him a long time to fall back asleep.

*

“You sleep all right?” Carwood asks in the morning as he pours coffee for everyone.

“I’m fine,” George says, rubbing one hand over his face. 

“You’re not,” Ron says. He sits next to George and leans in. “You should have come into our room.”

George puts his head on the table and groans. “Companionship,” he says.

“Yes,” Ron replies. 

“What does that even mean?” George lifts his head. Ron is looking at Carwood, there’s something uncertain on his face, and it makes George groan and lower his head again.

“It’s okay,” Ron says, and he presses his hand to George’s back.

“George, sit up,” Carwood says, and George straightens up without thinking. Carwood sits in the chair on the other side of Ron and scoots it forward so his knees are almost touching George’s legs. “How did you sleep last night?”

“Shittily,” George says. Ron’s hand is running up and down his back in slow strokes, and Carwood is watching him with a sympathetic smile on his face. “I don’t remember my dreams, but I don’t think I liked them.”

“If you’re not comfortable having us make room, that’s fine, but at least wake us up if you can’t sleep. We want to help out any way we can.”

George sighs. Ron squeezes his shoulder, and George turns into it. “I’ll try,” he says.

“Good,” Carwood says. He cups the side of George’s face for a moment before he stands. The whole side of George’s face tingles.

“Good,” Ron echoes. He trails his hand down George’s arm before leaning away. George’s arm tingles like his face.

*

They go for a walk together, Ron and Carwood showing George the neighborhood. When they come home before lunch, they all drop onto the couch. George tilts to one side, meaning to fake a topple, and ends up pressed against Carwood’s side.

“Hold on,” Carwood says, lifting his arm. 

George, his balance already off-center, falls a few inches further and ends up with his head pressed against Carwood’s ribs. He twists, and his head drops into Carwood’s lap. “Sorry, I’ll—”

“You’re okay,” Carwood says. He runs his fingers through George’s hair like it’s nothing.

“I—” George lifts his head a few inches when he feels Ron grab his ankles. “What—”

“Companionship,” Ron says as he takes off George’s shoes and then puts George’s feet in his lap.

“You’ve really got to explain to me what you mean by that,” George says around a huge yawn. He closes his eyes, meaning to just rest a minute, and he falls asleep.

*

When George wakes up, it’s just after one. He’s alone on the couch, and someone—he is certain it was Carwood—has put a blanket over him. He sits up and stretches, running his fingers through his hair and looking around. Ron and Carwood aren’t in the living room. George stands up, stretches again, and walks to the kitchen to find something to eat. He comes up short when he sees Ron and Carwood standing in the kitchen. Carwood is leaning against Ron, his face pressed against Ron’s shoulder. There’s a smile on his face, and his eyes are closed. Ron is lightly rubbing Carwood’s neck and saying something against his ear.

“Uh,” George says. 

Carwood doesn’t open his eyes. Ron turns his head and looks at George. “Yes?” Ron asks. He turns and presses a kiss to Carwood’s temple. “Are you okay, George?”

“I…” George shakes his head and slumps against the doorjamb. “I think we all know the answer to that.”

“Come here,” Ron says.

George steps forward without thinking. Ron wraps an arm around his shoulder and brings him in close. George is almost certain he feels Ron kiss the top of his head. Before he can ask, Carwood reaches out and curls an arm around his waist. George doesn’t know what to say. He ducks his head, and this time he’s certain Ron kisses the top of it. 

“Companionship,” George says.

“Yes,” Carwood replies, and they stand there quietly for a few minutes.

George is certain he hasn’t felt this warm and centered since before the war.

*

George puts his pajamas on in the bathroom that night and looks at himself in the mirror. He is the same George Luz he was this morning, he thinks. He is the same George Luz who showed up to visit a few days ago. He is the same George Luz who gave Carwood Lipton his first cigarette. He is the same George Luz who scared the hell out of a group of replacements by laughing at something Ron had done and then imitated him when he was well within earshot.

He walks out of the bathroom and takes a deep breath. It feels equally important and silly to knock on the bedroom door, but the smile Carwood gives him when he opens it makes George feel like everything’s right.

He falls asleep on the far side of the bed, Ron in the middle and Carwood on the side nearest the door. When George wakes up in the morning, Ron has him pulled in close, and Carwood’s leaning over Ron to press a quick kiss to George’s cheek.

“Morning,” Carwood says in a whisper. “If you poke him in the ribs, he’ll turn over, and you can escape.”

George grins. “I’m all right,” he says. He grabs Carwood’s hand as Carwood turns away. He squeezes hard once and drifts back to sleep at the feel of Carwood trailing fingers up his arm.

**Author's Note:**

> Much love to the_wordbutler for an excellent beta, as per the usual.


End file.
